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‘Has he introduced you to Mummy yet?’ the cynical voice continued. ‘Or is she one of the old school who would object to her little boy dallying with a married woman?’
‘I don’t know why you are trying to make John out to be some sort of mother’s boy,’ she said tightly, ‘because he most certainly isn’t.’
‘Isn’t he?’ The drawling lazy voice expressed disbelief. ‘What exactly are the noble John’s attributes, by the way?’
‘He’s kind and gentle and patient,’ she said hotly, as the overt criticism of her friend stung her on the raw. John had shown her nothing but kindness and she wouldn’t let Blade, even Blade, make fun of him.
‘Worthy virtues in the average cocker spaniel,’ Blade said with icy derision, ‘but somehow that description is not the most passionate characterisation I’ve heard in my life. Is that the best you can do for the poor guy?’
‘It’s impossible to try and talk to you,’ she said angrily as the last of her self-control flew out of the window. ‘I can’t understand why you bothered to come round today—’
‘Well, it certainly wasn’t to talk,’ Blade said softly, without taking his eyes from the road. ‘I realised when I saw you again that that wasn’t the answer. No, this needs to be sorted out on a more—physical level than just mere words, although they will do afterwards.’
‘Afterwards?’ she asked icily with all the disdain she could muster through the mad hot pounding of her heart. ‘You don’t really think—’
‘You’d be amazed what I think,’ Blade said grimly, ‘and none of it good where you are concerned, so why don’t you just be quiet now so we can keep things pleasant?’
They lunched at a tiny little wayside inn whose flower-filled country garden sloped right to the edge of a bubbling river banked by smooth round boulders and stones. There were a few tables and chairs dotted about on the rough green grass under the shade of an enormous cherry tree, and Amy voted for a meal in the open when Blade gave her the choice. The quaint little oak-beamed pub with its homely brass and low ceiling was a little too intimate somehow.
‘You’ve lost weight.’ They were sitting sipping draught cider in tense silence, the sunlight casting dappled pictures on to the old wooden table through the waving branches overhead, and as Blade spoke Amy jumped involuntarily, spilling a few drops of cold golden liquid as she did so. ‘And you’re nervy.’ He touched her hair, following one silky strand from the crown of her head to its place on her shoulder, his eyes thoughtful. ‘Is that because of me, or are you burdened down with guilt at your wayward life?’ he asked with caustic mockery.
‘According to you I should be, then, I suppose?’ she answered quietly as she jerked her head away from his touch. ‘You’ve cast me as the original scarlet woman?’
‘You’d disagree with that?’ he asked tightly as he settled back into his seat opposite her, his eyes hooded and half closed against the bright light. ‘No, don’t answer that. I have no wish for you to perjure yourself any more than you have already done. Ah—the food.’ For a moment the last three words didn’t register, and then a plate of fresh buttered trout, baby new potatoes and fresh green peas appeared over her shoulder.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled up at the landlady as she spoke, grateful for the diversion. John’s words were suddenly very vividly in the forefront of her mind. ‘Trouble with a capital T.’ And how! She looked at Blade now as he sat eating his lunch with every appearance of enjoyment. The hard, handsome face and big, powerful body were painfully familiar. How many times had she thought she would faint beneath the pleasure that masculine body produced, the intimate sensual caresses that had had her mindless with desire? She turned scarlet at the direction her thoughts had veered off to, snapping her eyes down to her full plate and forcing herself to start eating slowly. She didn’t feel like food, she didn’t think she would ever feel like food again …
She was conscious that the piercing dark eyes were trained on her at regular intervals even without raising her head, and when after a few minutes she pushed her half-eaten meal aside his next words didn’t surprise her.
‘No appetite? Why?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ The vehemence of her voice almost made her jump. ‘I’m not hungry, that’s all.’
‘You don’t look as though you have been hungry for weeks,’ he murmured wryly, but although the comment might have been airy when spoken by anyone else the hard thread of steel underlying the deep voice told her he wasn’t going to let go of this particular bone. ‘Or maybe you’ve been too busy to eat?’
